A customer has been waiting less than two minutes but is already rolling his eyes and standing with his hand on his hip. I still attempt to be friendly and polite.

Me: “How are you today?”

The customer ignores me. I scan his items.

Me: “Would you like a bag?”

The customer still ignores me.

Me: “Okay, your total is [total].”

The customer ignores me and pulls out his card.

Me: “Card? I just need your PIN here and then press ‘okay.’”

The customer sighs and enters the PIN.

Me: “And here’s your receipt!”

The receipt prints and I hold it out to him. He ignores my hand and locks eyes with me. As I’m about to say thank you, he suddenly speaks.

Customer: “You know, a single please or thank you would have been nice at least once through that entire transaction!“

He snatched his receipt and stormed out of the store, leaving me speechless.

A well-dressed, slim — but not particularly so — middle-aged female customer walks into our store and browses for a while. Then, she approaches me, speaking with a typical Australian accent.

Customer: “What’s the smallest size you stock?”

Me: “Our smallest label size is six, but some of the shirts fit more like a four.”

Customer: “You don’t have size zero? I wear a size zero.”

Me: “Do you mean US size zero? That’s equivalent to an Australian six.”

Customer: “No, I wear zero, not six! I always get size zero in New York.”

Me: “I understand, but that’s US size. Why not try on an Australian six and see that it’s the same?”

Customer: *Suddenly screaming* “I WEAR SIZE ZERO! WHY DON’T YOU HAVE SIZE ZERO? *Storms out*

It is about an hour before a music festival starts. The festival is showcasing electronic music, and the musicians are all warming up and performing sound checks. An older woman comes up to where we are queueing.

Woman: “Excuse me, can you please tell them to turn the sound down?”

Security: “Sorry?”

Woman: “The bass is too loud. Can you please turn it down?”

Security: “Ma’am, I’m just working security.”

Woman: “Well, who do you report to? The sound is too loud!”

I try my hand at an explanation.

Me: “Ma’am, it’s a music festival. I don’t think you’ll have much luck.”

Woman: “I don’t care! It’s too bloody loud!”

I quickly — and wisely — give up, but she carries on. She storms over to the ticket office. I can’t hear the exchange, but next thing I know, she draws away from the window with a wireless bank card reader in her hand.

Woman: “You can have it back when you turn the noise down! It’s too loud!”

A man steps out of the ticket office.

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am—”

Woman: *Firmly but not loudly* “It’s too loud!”

Ticket Seller: “—if you’ll just hand me my property back—”

Woman: “It’s too loud!”

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am, I will call the cops—”

Woman: “Do it! Call them! They’ll turn the sound down! It’s too f****** loud! I am in [Public Place] and the bass is too loud!”

This festival is indeed in said public place, but it’s been known about and licensed for some months and publicised across the entire country.

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am, can you please—”

Woman: “It’s too loud!”

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am, I—”

Woman: “You can have this back when you turn the sound down! It’s too loud!”

The ticket seller makes a grab for the machine, but she pulls it out of his reach. He remains calm, as does the security guard.

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am—”

Woman: “It’s too loud! The bass is too loud!”

Fortunately, a policeman shows up in his car. The woman goes over, machine still in hand, and knocks on the policeman’s window. The ticket seller follows her. Again, I can’t hear this exchange, but shortly after, the policeman steps out of his car and walks around to the quarrelling pair. She keeps repeating her phrase, “It’s too loud!”, but the policeman eventually gets the card reader back to the ticket booth and leads the woman away.

Me: *To others in line* “Well. This could be an interesting day.”

I’m a member of the choir volunteering my help before the concert, but I’m not actually part of the front of house staff, as I’ll be on stage during the concert itself.

It’s about an hour before the concert starts, and the front of house staff are still inside the hall finishing their safety briefing. The bar is ready to serve people and has some seats, so as there are a few customers already waiting, we open the main doors. I’m sent to the entrance to the ticket sales/collections desks to stop any customers coming through.

Me: “I’m afraid we’re not quite open for tickets yet, but the bar is just down there if you’d like a drink or somewhere to sit down.”

Grumpy Man: “Why did you open the doors if you’re not ready to sell tickets? That’s so unprofessional!”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but the front of house staff haven’t finished their briefing. We opened the doors because the bar is open.”

Grumpy Man: “It’s what you’d expect from a tiny country town, not in the city!”

My “boss,” the choir president, comes up behind me.

Boss: “They’re finishing the safety briefing, which we have to have. It will only be a couple of minutes.”

Grumpy Man: “You can’t expect people to pay good money if you have this kind of amateur communication skills. It’s completely ridiculous.”

The hall doors open and the front of house staff come out and go to the ticket desks.

Me: “Tickets are now available if you’d like to come through.”

I still have no idea why he was so offended. It was cold and raining outside; most people would have liked to come into the lobby.

I volunteer to help with ticket sales for my choir, and I am dealing with customer complaints before the concert starts. A woman comes up to me with a complaint about her ticket.

Customer: “When I phoned up to book a ticket, I specifically asked for a balcony seat, but the one I’ve been given is in the stalls. I have neck problems; I can’t possibly sit in the stalls.”

Me: “I’m very sorry about that. I’ll exchange it for a seat in the balcony now. How about this one?”

I offer her a seat in the middle of the balcony, though towards the back as all the seats in front have already been sold.

Customer: “No, no, I don’t want that one. I want to sit right at the front near the orchestra. In the ‘AA’ section.”

Me: “We don’t actually sell those seats, because they’re right around to the side and you won’t hear a good balance of the music.”

Customer: “I’ve sat there before and I like it. I’m not sitting anywhere else.”

Me: “If that’s what you want, ma’am…”

I wrote “Sit in AA 64” on her ticket, initialled it, and sent her up to the balcony. She paid a premium price for a seat we don’t sell, even further round the balcony than the cheaper seats, and went upstairs smiling.